


It Stays in the Showers

by jvo_taiski



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Bottom Marcus Flint, Changing Rooms, Hook-Up, M/M, Quidditch, Showers, Smut, marcus flint is a power bottom, not a good combination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jvo_taiski/pseuds/jvo_taiski
Summary: Oliver's just lost a Quidditch match and he's not happy.Then the Slytherin Quidditch Captain walks into the empty changing rooms while Oliver's still in the shower, and he's been drinking. Things escalate.
Relationships: Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 120





	It Stays in the Showers

Oliver was pissed off. Mostly at himself. He was captain, after all. It was his fault, for not briefing their strategy properly. Or for not motivating them properly, or not structuring his training sessions in the most effective way. Either way, they lost, heavily, and it was his fault. Never mind that it was just a ‘friendly’ match, they’d still lost to Slytherin by about 200 points and it was his goddamn fault.

He sighed and cast a quick cleaning charm on the floor of the communal showers, before starting the hot water again and sinking to the floor, already thinking of a new training plan and a new strategy. The hot water calmed him down and helped him focus. He didn’t resent his team one bit—he knew they were all bloody brilliant players and they were just as disappointed with their crushing loss. They all knew full well that if they kept playing at that standard any longer, they wouldn’t have a chance at winning the house cup. It was up to Oliver to try and whip them into standard.

He didn’t know how long he was zoned out, sitting on the floor of the showers with thousands of quidditch scenarios running through his head, but he nearly jumped out of skin when someone walked into the changing rooms. Desperately, he scrabbled around for a towel, thinking it might be Filch or something, but to his surprise it was the Slytherin Quidditch captain who walked in, holding a bottle of firewhiskey and looking drunk. Oliver sat back down and chose to ignore him. Sure, Slytherin had technically won fair and square but it didn’t make Oliver any less salty.

“Woodsy? Why the fuck are you still here?”

Oliver shrugged, expecting Flint to leave him alone. Evidently, there was a party in the Slytherin common room and he had no idea what Flint was doing here. But to his surprise, Flint strolled into the shower fully clothed and sat next to Oliver, still holding his bottle of firewhiskey. Oliver ignored him.

“C’mon, Woodsy. The game finished over an hour ago and dinner just happened. Why you in the changing rooms, mate?” Flint scooted a bit closer and Oliver continued to ignore him. He was evidently drunk.

“Woodsy, mate.”

“I could ask you the same question, Flint. Why are you in the changing rooms? Isn’t there some party you should be at?” For the first time since he entered the changing rooms, Oliver turned around to face Flint and just managed to refrain from startling. Flint’s strangely pale green eyes were only inches from his. He’d never been this close to Flint before—while they were technically on civil terms, and in most of the same classes, they’d never hung out. Probably came from the stigma of being captains of opposite teams.

He could smell the alcohol on Flint’s breath, but didn’t bother attempt to lean away from it. For the first time, he felt slightly uncomfortable about his nakedness. He’d seen every guy on his team naked, and every guy on every other team naked and they, including Flint, had seen him bare as well. They thought nothing of it. Oliver wasn’t sure why he was getting uncomfortable now. Maybe it was because Flint was casually chilling in the shower completely clothed, and very close.

“So? Why are you here, Flint?” whether he’d ever admit it or not, he had a massive amount of respect for the Slytherin captain. He was an excellent chaser and, unlike the rest of his fucking team, a good sport. They had some good banter, sometimes, although it was rare and primarily happened in charms class. Oliver used to hate sitting next to Flint, back in 5th year, but as the years passed Oliver found that he never particularly wanted to move seats. And neither had Flint. Admittedly, he actually enjoyed messing around with Flint in that class, but they never spoke outside of it. In the corridors, they both pretended the other didn’t exist.

“I dunno mate. I got bored of the party I guess.” Flint leaned back against the hard tile of the shower walls and shut his eyes. Oliver was somewhat disappointed. But at least, when his eyes were closed, he could actually take a good look at him. Two years of sitting next to this kid in charms, even longer playing against each other, and 7 whole years in the same classes and Oliver had never noticed how long his eyelashes were. Flint was one of the typical quidditch charmers. He had girls (mainly Slytherin) hanging around him constantly, and Oliver would have been blind not to notice his tanned complexion and the stubble om his strong jaw, or his toned, muscular body when they were both in the changing rooms at the same time. It was easy to see why people paid so much attention to him.

“Flint, pass the bottle mate.”

“What?” Flint opened his eyes again, seeming slightly surprised.

“The firewhiskey, Flint. Somehow I’m not sure you’re going to finish the whole bottle.” God, Flint was so annoying when he was staring at him like that. Oliver had always admired the gorgeous pale shade of green they were and how they contrasted with his heavy brows and hooded eyelids.

“Yeah, sure. Didn’t realise you drank. What with being some model athlete and all.”

“Flint. While I’m flattered that you think I’m a model athlete, I’m sitting in the shower an hour after the match trying to drown my sorrows. Something tells me that firewhiskey is going to be more effective than hot water.” Oliver accepted the bottle and took a swig, feeling the burn of alcohol run down his throat. It made him feel warmer instantly—truth be told, the shower really wasn’t that warm anymore, after running for over an hour straight. He could’ve cast a heating charm but that seemed like way too much effort.

“I mean, sure, Woodsy. It’s just I’ve never seen you eat anything unhealthy mate, not even pudding. Didn’t realise you were willing to trash your liver.”

Oliver didn’t even bother question why Flint knew his eating habits, considering they’d never eaten at the same table. Instead, he took another sip of firewhiskey, then leaned back and closed his eyes. Something told him he should probably get changed and go back to the common room—by now, there were definitely people wondering where he was. But as far as he was aware, the Gryffindor common room didn’t have any firewhiskey. What it did have was people, and he really didn’t feel like talking to any of them. About anything. He was fine in the showers, making quidditch plans in his head. Flint wasn’t a problem. He wasn’t asking questions, and he had alcohol.

_Headwinds from the southeast. Based on the position of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch, it was likely that, if they were defending the southern hoops as usual, it would give them an advantage to approach the opposite goal from the right, meaning that it was easier to score with the wind. And it would make passing the ball between players easier, even though if it was coming from the southeast the whole team would have to watch out for turbulence as the wind comes over the—_

“Woodsy.” Oliver nearly jumped out of his skin again. He didn’t open his eyes, but Flint had moved himself very close again—he could feel his breath against his cheek.

“Woodsy. You’re being too hard on yourself, you only lost one match and it was just a practice one. You’re a bloody brilliant captain.”

“Goddamn it Flint. Stop bullshitting. We played so badly today it was laughable. And I let in 5 goals, 3 of which were easily saved. I misjudged and fucked up.” Oliver finally opened his eyes, out of frustration. Flint was so close that their noses were almost touching. Not for the first time, Oliver wished he had some clothes on—it shouldn’t have been a big deal but when Flint was looking at him like _that,_ with his hair wet and slicked back, his shirt see through from the water and those pale eyes barely a couple inches from his…

“You were practising your technique, Woods. I noticed. Trying to save goals without forsaking your defensive pose, in case the other team intercepts your pass. Admittedly, you gotta work on that one but it is a move used by world class athletes.” Flints eyes seemed to flick down to Oliver’s lips but he barely noticed.

“Yes. And? It was a practise match; I should’ve saved the goals like I normally do. Flint, I gotta keep the team’s morale up. Now they all feel like shit. I shoulda kept the technique practise strictly to squad training, at least until I get it perfect.” Oliver groaned and put his head in his hands. “Pass the bottle.”

“No. You’re being way too hard on yourself Woods and you’ve always had this problem. And surely you know that using alcohol as a coping mechanism isn’t healthy. At all.”

“Flint,” he complained. “Flint. Normally I don’t. What’s one time? I can’t be arsed to think right now.”

“No. Not until you stop beating yourself up. It happened, and what. You lost. It’s not your fault.” Flint slowly pushed the bottle away from them and somehow managed to get impossibly closer to Oliver.

Oliver swallowed. He could see each and every one of Flint’s dark eyelashes.

“Besides,” Flint’s voice took on a smooth, cheeky tone that Oliver would only otherwise hear when he was being teased in charms class. “You taking sole responsibility for losing takes away my credit for winning. Don’t even try and lie, Woodsy, my team played bloody brilliantly and I scored some damn good goals.”

“Fuck off Flint, just you wait. Wait until I’ve got a new strategy and then you’ll be fucked.”

Flint chuckled, and Oliver felt his breath on his neck. He was feeling very warm and it wasn’t just because of the firewhiskey, or the lukewarm water that was still gently raining over them both.

There was a long pause, and some prolonged eye contact. Flint refused to move his stupid face—he was still way too close. And his mouth was ever so slightly open, just enough so Oliver could feel his breathing on his face. Oliver’s heart was basically beating out of his chest and he hoped that Flint wouldn’t notice. He kept his eyes firmly locked onto Flint’s green ones, hoping that Flint wouldn’t look down and see his dick. It wasn’t cooperating.

Luckily, Flint’s eyes only left his once, to dart down and look at Oliver’s own lips. Oliver hadn’t noticed his own lips had parted slightly. Somehow, Flint’s hand was now covering his own. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his other hand to cup Oliver’s face.

As much as he didn’t really want him to stop, Oliver also really didn’t want to regret anything in the morning. “Flint. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.” He replied in a rough, husky voice that sent chills up Oliver’s spine. “I left the party early. I only drank as much as what’s gone in that bottle.”

Oliver let his eyes drift closed when Flint gently pressed his lips against his. They were surprisingly soft for someone who seemed as rugged as Flint. It started off slow and soft, but Oliver couldn’t contain his soft gasp when Flint moved his hand to rest on his bare chest, thumb flicking over his nipple.

Flint seemed to lose any restraint he had and swung his leg over Oliver to straddle him, pushing him back against the wall as he did so. Oliver couldn’t resist it and moaned as the denim on Flint’s jeans rubbed up against his erect cock.

The kissing got messy very quickly. Flint’s tongue was everywhere, assaulting his mouth. Oliver could barely breathe but he didn’t care, not when Flint was running his hands all over his bare chest.

Flint had entirely too many clothes on, and it wasn’t fair. Without taking his mouth off Flint’s, Oliver reached up to unbutton his soaking wet shirt. Noticing what he was doing, Flint shrugged the rest of his shirt off himself and threw it somewhere behind him, leaving Oliver to stare at his bare chest. Fuck, he was gorgeous—all tanned skin and toned muscle. Oliver dragged a hand down his chest and over his abs, then followed his happy trail down to where his jeans started. He looked up, questioning, into Flint’s eyes—his pupils were dilated and he was panting. Oliver took the chance and moved his hands lower still, so it was over the bulge in Flint’s pants. There was a sharp intake of air from Flint but nothing else. Oliver squeezed.

The effect was instantaneous. Flint let out what sounded like a cross between a gasp and a moan and braced both of his hands on the wall either side of Oliver’s head, effectively caging him in. He was breathing heavy and his mouth was hanging open, lips already swollen from all the snogging. Oliver was about to catch Flints plump lower lip with his teeth but both boys startled when the changing room doors crashed open.

“Marcuussss…”

Neither boy dared move out of their compromising position.

“Emilia? What the fuck are you doing, this is the boys changing room! Get out you perverted little bitch!” He yelled, evidently struggling to keep his voice level. He was evidently terrified that she’d walk around the corner.

“Come back to the party Marcus… I missed you.” She giggled.

“I’m in the shower you fucking creep! Get out!”

“C’mon, let’s have a little fun… how about I join you?” Her slurred voice was getting closer. If she turned the corner she’d see them. Flint was evidently panicking but there was nothing he could do—he’d left his wand somewhere else it seemed.

“Emilia you disgusting little slag _go away!”_ he basically screamed.

Her hand crept around the corner of the wall. “I’m cominggg…”

Oliver stunned her, silently. She fell to the floor with a scream, immediately followed by more screaming outside the girl’s changing rooms—evidently, she’d brought a few friends looking for him. “Emilia? What happened? Are you alright?”

Oliver flicked his wand again, and sent Emilia flying out of the changing rooms, and with a final swish he locked the doors.

Flint was still on his lap, visibly shaken. His skin was suddenly very cold to the touch.

“Sorry I didn’t stun her earlier. It’s just…”

“Alcohol and stunning spells don’t mix. Yeah. I know. I’m sorry she’s a fucking creep, I didn’t realise she’d actually walk into the showers. Gods, I’m such a fuck up I should have remembered…” he groaned.

“It’s alright Flint. She didn’t see anything; you’ve not been outed. I’ve got your back, mate.”

“I… thanks Woods. You’re not telling anybody?”

“Tell them what? I kissed a bloke, lol he’s gay?” Oliver placed his hands over Flint’s thighs, gently. “I’m not a shitty person. You can trust me.”

Flint broke eye contact, looking down and swallowing. Then, he seemed to remember that he was straddling Oliver’s naked lap and shifted away, red-faced.

“Shit, I’m sorry Woods, I don’t know what I was thinking, I swear this wasn’t my intention when I first came in, maybe I did drink a bit—”

It was probably the small amount of alcohol he’d ingested but somehow Oliver shoved his feelings of doubt away and grabbed Flint by the ass, pulling him in again. He could feel Flint’s dick, still half hard despite flagging when Emilia had barged in and nearly caught them. “You still up for it?”

Flint, eyes trained on Oliver, nodded wordlessly. That was all Oliver needed to kiss him again, roughly. Flint’s tense muscles seemed to melt into Oliver’s burning kiss and his mouth was pliant and wet when Oliver thrust his tongue inside. Flint’s hands were frantic again, running over Oliver’s back, the edge of his nails making Oliver shiver.

Oliver was rock hard again, and judging by the painful-looking bulge in his jeans, so was Flint. He began fumbling at Flint’s belt buckle and Flint jumped off him. For a second, Oliver was scared he’d gone too far but Flint simply pulled off his jeans, giving Oliver a split second to admire the toned body that he used to sneak looks at in the shower, then he was back in Oliver’s arms but this time with his cock rubbing against Oliver’s.

They were both breathless and panting hard. Flint had red spots high on his cheekbones and was letting out sharp little moans every time Oliver rolled his hips. He never thought he’d hear such noises coming from Flint’s mouth but it was hot. Presently, Oliver decided that he wasn’t getting enough friction and slid his hand between their bodies to grasp both their cocks and give them an experimental jerk.

“Oh god—Oliver,” Flint threw his head back and moaned, his strong fingers tightening on Oliver’s shoulders. He’d never called him by his first name before.

Oliver did it again, and fuck it felt so good. Honestly it was going to be embarrassing how long he was gonna last, but by the way Flint was gasping and grabbing his shoulders like a lifeline, it didn’t look like he was gonna be able to keep going for much longer either.

“I—stop, stop. Woods,” he managed to choke out.

Oliver stopped immediately, not sure what he’d done wrong. “I’m sorry—”

Flint, still breathing heavily, leaned in so he was right by Oliver’s ear. “Woodsy,” his voice was low and gravely, sending a thrill down Oliver’s spine. Oliver gripped his ass tighter. “Woodsy, I want you to fuck me.”

Oliver’s breathing hitched slightly and if possible, his heart started to pound more. “Are you sure?” he whispered back, looking into Flint’s eyes. Again, his pupils were blown and again, Oliver was blown away by their colour.

“Of course I am, you twat. You gonna get on with it?” Flint’s cheeky half-smile was back, and coupled with the low voice and wet hair, Oliver thought he’d burn up.

“Hmmmmm,” Oliver smirked as Flint gasped. Cleaning charms were never the most pleasant—Oliver knew from experience. But they were effective. “Come here.”

Swiftly, Oliver moved so he was lying on the hard shower floor. He couldn’t be arsed to cast a cushioning charm; lying on the floor wasn’t too bad anyway. Flint looked down at him, unsure what he was doing. Then, Oliver grabbed Flint by the thighs and dragged him, still in a kneeling position, across the shower floor so his ass was level with Oliver’s face.

“Woodsy, what— _oh._ ” Flint slammed both hands on the wall to steady himself when Oliver grabbed his cheeks and spread them wide, before diving in and licking a strip from his arsehole to his balls. Oliver smirked. Flint’s eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging open as he struggled to get enough air.

Every lick was driving Flint insane, apparently. Oliver used his tongue to push past the tight ring of muscle around his hole, ignoring the slight cramp in his tongue, satisfied that he had Flint moaning and shaking. Oliver cast a quick lubricating charm, then let a single finger join his tongue. His hole fluttered slightly, and let Oliver’s finger slide in with barely any resistance. A second finger quickly joined the first and Oliver finger fucked him at a fast rhythm, leaving his mouth free to give Flint’s balls some attention.

Flint was a fucking mess. His thighs were trembling as Oliver continued the assault on his ass, and he was basically a moaning wreck. He let out a strangled cry when Oliver curled his fingers and found Flint’s sweet spot in his ass.

“Woods… Woods, goddamn it, fuck me already.” To Oliver’s satisfaction, Flint was struggling to get the words out.

“So demanding.” Oliver sat up, leaving Flint straddling him again. “This isn’t your first time, right?”

“No. C’mon, Woods. I’m ready for it.”

“You want it?”

“Yes, fuck you.”

“Well come and get it then. It’s all yours,” with that, Oliver leaned back on his elbows to watch Flint glaring at him in the hottest way possible.

“Fuck you, Woods. Cast another lube charm,” with that, Flint planted a hand on either side of Oliver’s head in a very possessive position. The glint in his pale green eyes was predatory. Flint leaned down to kiss him again, but it was deep and forceful this time. Oliver felt the head of his penis brush against Flint’s crack and automatically reached around to spread his cheeks for him.

Both boys moaned when Flint moved backwards and sank an inch down Oliver’s dick. He paused, panting, the muscles in his legs shaking slightly from restraint.

“You okay, Flint?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just let me…” they both groaned again as Flint slipped another couple of inches down. The floor was bloody uncomfortable but Oliver was grateful—it kept him grounded. He couldn’t believe he was fucking Marcus Flint, captain of the Slytherin quidditch team, walking heartthrob, on the floor of the changing room shower.

“I think I can—” Flint moved up slightly then back down, but Oliver wasn’t expecting it and it felt too fucking good. Involuntarily, he sat up with a gasp that quickly turned into a deep, throaty moan as Flint slipped all the way down the rest of his dick, coming to rest on his lap.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean that, are you okay?”

Flint was gasping, nose to nose with him. “Mate, are you kidding? I’m more than great I haven’t had a lay in months,” Flint shoved Oliver back down on the bathroom floor and proceeded to lift himself again, then forcefully sat back down on his dick. He’d seemingly forgotten Oliver existed and had abandoned all restraint—Oliver could only watch as Flint fucked himself on Oliver’s dick, hard.

His powerful thighs didn’t seem to be slowing down either—if anything, the pace increased. Oliver could see every muscle working under his skin. The showers had long since stopped but his skin was slick with sweat and hot to the touch. And the noises. They were obscene. Flint was moaning without restraint now, leaving Oliver to remember that they hadn’t bothered cast silencing charms. Honestly, Oliver couldn’t bring himself to care—the changing rooms were at the edge of the castle anyway, basically outside. It was unlikely anyone was going to stroll past.

Oliver could feel warmth pooling at the bottom of his stomach, near his groin, and he knew he was close. He closed his fist around the base of Flint’s slick cock and gave it a tug. For the first time, his rhythm faltered.

“Oh Merlin… Oliver, please…”

There was nothing hotter than Marcus Flint moaning his name, head thrown back, while riding on his cock. Oliver only needed to jerk him off a few more times before Flint was cumming, white spurts ending up all over both boys’ chests.

And damn, Oliver was close too, he could feel it. He was expecting Flint to get off his dick, but to his surprise, even though he’d already come and he must have been shattered, Flint pushed Oliver down and began riding him harder than ever, hands planted firmly on either side of his head. Trapping him.

It only took another minute— the sight of Flint leaning down to lick his own cum off Oliver’s chest did it for him. Then he was coming, his hips bucking erratically as he filled up Flint’s arse. He was blown away by the force of his orgasm and didn’t even bother try and stifle the loud moan that it came with. He saw stars.

Flint finally slid off him, panting.

Oliver took a second to gather himself again and remember that it had been almost 2 hours since the quidditch match was over and he was still sitting on the floor of the quidditch changing room showers. Naked. And splattered with Marcus Flint’s jizz.

“Well fuck,” he wasn’t quite sure how to pick up from that. So he turned on the showers again, which were mercifully hot. “You alright, Flint?”

Flint accepted the hand that Oliver offered. “Yeah. I won’t lie though, my legs are fucking killing me and I’m definitely not gonna be able to walk straight tomorrow.”

“Come here,” Oliver let Marcus lean against him under the hot water. It was nice just standing there but they both needed to get going. He seemed pretty shattered and reluctant to do anything, so Oliver started to gently wash the sweat and mess from Flint’s body. It gave him a chance to admire his smooth, tanned skin again.

Maybe he was taking longer than he should have but it was worth it to feel Flint’s slight shivers when he ran a hand over his arsehole again, to clean any seamen, of course. Or when he traced the vein running down Flint’s bicep and started deep into his green eyes again, while washing his face.

“You sure you’re good, Flint? You’re not hurt?”

“Of course I’m alright. C’mon. Let’s get out of here, before someone does walk in.”

They left the changing rooms in silence. Oliver desperately wanted to say something but honest to god he didn’t know what.

“Bye, Woods. See you around,” and with a last long look at Oliver with those beautiful pale eyes, Flint turned and walked away.

Oliver wished he was still drunk. Then maybe his limbs wouldn’t have been frozen to the floor and his mouth wouldn’t have been glued shut and he would’ve run after Flint for that one last kiss.

It was just a shag. Nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> this was pretty much written as practice whoops
> 
> ig it could have another chapter and be extended into something with a satisfying ending? idk


End file.
